


It's This One, I Swear!

by sincerelymendacious



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games)
Genre: Comedy, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Romance, Writing Prompt, illusory wall fail, kinda spicy, tw:minor injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:20:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26329303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sincerelymendacious/pseuds/sincerelymendacious
Summary: Gwynsen tries to show Ornstein something interesting. It doesn't go as planned.
Relationships: The Nameless King/Dragon Slayer Ornstein
Comments: 9
Kudos: 29





	It's This One, I Swear!

**Author's Note:**

> I saw a cool list of writing prompts on mrslittletall's tumblr and decided to do one of them- the prompt being knuckle-kissing. I had already had this idea in my head for a while and the prompt gave me an opportunity to write it out. 
> 
> Here is the prompt list: https://promptingyou.tumblr.com/post/627653378566209536/physical-affection-prompts

“It’s this way,” the Prince says, pointing to a door at the far-end of the quiet, dimly lit hallway he has dragged Ornstein to.

Ornstein does not know why Gwynsen has taken him halfway across the castle, when his own quarters are much closer. It was not like anyone had noticed them sneaking away from the feast. But whatever- it has been far too long since the two of them have had the opportunity to be alone together like this, and Ornstein is not going to waste it with questions. Already his body is vibrating with anticipation, and he can feel the warmth of Gwynsen’s thumb on his pulse as he leads him by the hand to his intended destination. 

The door that they finally come to a stop at is as unassuming as the rest of the hallway, made of reddish-brown wood and slightly dusty due to infrequent use. It creaks in a worryingly loud manner when Gwynsen pushes it open, but Ornstein is taken into the room before he can check to see if the sound has alerted anyone nearby. 

The room within is nothing special; just an old, forgotten sitting room, rather sparse in furnishings and decorations. The furniture is limited to one long couch, now yellowed with age, and a bare little table set in front of it. A lone portrait hangs on the left side of the wall opposite the door, depicting a pinch-faced person that Ornstein does not recognize. The unlit fireplace does little to warm the drafty space. 

Not a particularly romantic setting. Ornstein assumes that there must be some secret to it, but it is of little concern to him at this moment. He is sprung tight with excitement and giddy from the wine he has imbibed at the feast, and thus, cannot even wait for the door to close before grasping Gwynsen by his collar to pull him down for a kiss. 

It is what he has been waiting for all night- the slant of his lips over the Prince’s, the slide of tongue against tongue and yes, even the clumsy clicking of their teeth together. And heat, pure heat that floods through his mouth and all the way down to his toes, a comforting heat that he has gone without for an unacceptably long period of time. Groaning, Ornstein removes his hands from Gwynsen’s collar and sets them on his broad shoulders instead, filling his palms with the hard muscle hidden underneath the silk of the Prince’s robe. 

Gwynsen places his hands on Ornstein’s shoulders as well- in order to separate them, unfortunately. “Orn-” he mutters against Ornstein’s mouth, pulling back. Ornstein follows, his lips still seeking the Prince’s. “Wait, wait.” Somehow Gwynsen manages to detach himself and stand up straight. His tongue peeks out to lick at his kiss swollen lips; an action likely done unconsciously, but one that sends a pulse of arousal straight through Ornstein. “Hold on,” Gwynsen says when Ornstein starts toward him again. “I know that you find me impossible to resist, but you must try to restrain yourself.” His warm gold eyes sparkle merrily as he cocks a grin. “I wish to share with you a secret.” 

“It can wait,” Ornstein says, wrapping his arms around the Prince’s neck. He presses their bodies together, making the benefits of delaying his secret’s reveal very clear. 

A flush spreads across the Prince’s tan cheeks, but he stays firm. “It cannot,” he says, playfully poking the point of Ornstein’s nose, “for you shall no doubt ravish me into exhaustion, and I will forget all about this very interesting thing I wish to show you.” 

Ornstein could have pouted, were he the type to do so. Instead, he accedes to Gwynsen’s request with a roll of his eyes. “Alright,” he says, unclasping his arms and stepping away. “Show me this very interesting thing of yours before I perish from curiosity.” He crosses his arms over his chest and waits, half-suspecting that this is the set-up to some kind of joke. 

Gwynsen’s grin does nothing to allay these suspicions. He walks over to the other side of the room in a few quick strides and points at the plain, white-bricked wall. “You see this?” he asks with more eagerness than such a thing should warrant. 

Ornstein squints, unsure of what exactly it is he is supposed to be seeing. “What, the wall?” he asks. Gwynsen nods. “Yes, I see the wall, all thanks to your finger. Had it not been directed at it, I surely would have missed it.” 

The Prince ignores Ornstein’s sarcasm. “You know of the many false walls and secret passages hidden throughout the castle?” 

Ornstein raises an eyebrow. “Of course I do.” As Captain of the Silver Knights, it is imperative that he be aware of every possible route within and without the castle, in the event that Anor Londo should come under attack. 

“And you believe that you know the location of every single one?” Gwynsen asks, continuing this strange line of questioning. 

The room is poorly lit, but even in this darkness Ornstein can see the white glint of Gwynsen’s teeth as he grins. He thinks that he would prefer to feel them grazing his neck, or nibbling the shell of his ear. “Yes,” he answers, wanting very much for Gwynsen to get his little joke over with. 

The Prince keeps going, either oblivious to Ornstein’s impatience or indifferent to it. “And what if I told you that there was a false wall that you could not possibly know about? What would you do?”

Ornstein is about to express his irritation more directly, but closes his mouth before he speaks. He silently scrutinizes the wall before him. It is made up of the same blocks of white sandstone that most of the other walls in the castle have been built with, and there is nothing about it that would indicate that it is anything more than an ordinary wall. Gwynsen has a healthy respect for architecture, but nothing about this wall should have caught his attention the way it has. “Is that a false wall there?” Ornstein asks, walking a few steps forward so that he can take a closer look. “If so, then it is very well-crafted! I cannot see any sort of outline around it.” 

“That is because there isn’t one.” Gwynsen speaks with such pride that Ornstein wonders if he had a hand in its creation. “This wall is unlike any other in the castle. Gwyndolin has managed to create one that blends in so seamlessly that you cannot tell there is anything different about it by sight alone.” 

“Oh!” It occurs to Ornstein that this is an odd time for Gwynsen to be bragging about a younger sibling’s accomplishments, but Ornstein is too intrigued to bring that up. “That is incredible! Lord Gwyndolin becomes more skilled with illusory magic everyday!” Excitement of a different sort now courses through him-think of the improvement to the castle’s defenses! Of how much easier it will be to store secret caches of weapons, or hide the nobility should intruders with ill-intent find their way into the castle! “How does it work?” he asks, searching the room for a hidden lever or pulley. “Is there a switch?”

“No, no switch.” Gwynsen poises his fist to knock upon the wall. “It is quite simple. You need only tap at the wall…” He brings his fist down like he was knocking on a door. “...and it shall disappear, as though it were never there at all!” 

But that is not what happens. The wall remains where it is, and as it is- its form does not even waver. The Prince’s grin falls away as confusion seeps into his expression. 

Ornstein makes an uncertain noise. “Was that-” 

“I must not have hit it hard enough,” Gwynsen says before Ornstein can finish his question. He smacks his fist against the wall a second time, and is rewarded only with a loud ‘thump’ for his efforts. Subsequent knocks are equally ineffectual. “What trickery is this?” he demands of the inanimate structure, his face scrunching up in annoyance. When it does not respond, he turns to look at Ornstein. “I swear, this worked before,” he insists, sounding more than a little embarrassed. 

“Perhaps it is not this wall,” Ornstein suggests, feeling at once both amused by this scene and sorry for his lover. “Are you certain that we are in the correct room?”

“Quite. I recall commenting on how ugly the person in that painting was,” Gwynsen replies, waving at the portrait. He stares grimly at the wall, eyes boring hard into the brick as though he thinks he can find an answer just by looking at it sternly enough. “Gwyndolin only had to tap it with the edge of his staff,” he says, slapping the wall with the back of his hand. 

“Gwyndolin may have been using magic without you knowing,” Ornstein says. 

“Hm.” Gwynsen nods, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Then I must hit it harder, in order to make up for the lack of his magic.” 

“I do not think-” 

But Gwynsen is already rearing back his arm, sparks of lightning crackling in his clenched fist. His attack is swift and so hard that Ornstein feels a jolt run up his arm in sympathy as he bears witness to it. Bits of brick fly everywhere, and the noise resulting from the impact is a boom that echoes all throughout the room. Ornstein can only hope that the sound does not carry all the way over to the Great Hall, where the feast is being held. 

There is a smoking crater roughly the size of Gwynsen’s fist in the middle of the wall- but it is otherwise intact. 

“Ouch,” Gwynsen says, rubbing the dust off of his bloodied hand.

“That was a foolish thing to have done!” Ornstein chastises as he closes the remaining distance between himself and the Prince. “What if-” he stops in the middle of his lecture, noticing that the section of the wall next to the one Gwynsen assaulted has vanished. “Oh, look at that!” he says as he goes over to investigate. “It was this wall the entire time!” 

“How can that be?” the Prince asks, still massaging his aching fingers. “That one had an ugly painting on it.” 

“Lord Gwyndolin may have put it there on purpose, as further camouflage,” Ornstein posits. “Very clever of him.” 

“Yes. He is truly Duke Seath the Shut-in’s equal in that regard,” Gwynsen says, tone bordering on petulant.

Ornstein peers into the chamber revealed by the illusory wall’s disappearance. It is small, square in shape, and holds absolutely nothing of interest. “It’s empty,” Ornstein reports to the Prince, somewhat disappointed. 

This does not surprise Gwynsen. “Gwyndolin had not planned on doing anything further with this one. He only created it as practice.” He brings his fist up to his face, wincing as he splays his fingers out. “I thought this curiosity would amuse you.” 

“And it does,” Ornstein says, stepping away from the empty chamber. His gaze falls upon the crater in the wall that the Prince has created, watching as a tiny piece of brick falls to the carpeted floor. It looks ridiculous in the otherwise pristine wall, and Ornstein cannot help but laugh at it. “You really punched a hole in that wall.” 

The Prince does not find it nearly as funny. “It hurt,” he says, the pain in his voice obviously exaggerated. “There’s a chance that I may suffer permanent damage.” He raises his hand towards Ornstein, imploring him without words to come tend to him. 

Ornstein goes over to him, not at all concerned- the deity has taken much harder hits than this and come away unscathed. “Let me see,” he says, taking Gwynsen’s injured hand in both of his. It is healing before Ornstein’s eyes, owing to the Prince’s ability to quickly bounce back from minor injuries such as this. Still, Ornstein takes his time examining it, rubbing his thumb over the rough expanse of Gwynsen’s palm with one hand while running his finger over the ridges of his knuckles with the other. The Prince makes a sound low in his throat that is not in any way pained. 

“I do believe,” Ornstein says softly as he raises the Prince’s hand to his lips, “that you shall regain full function of his hand within a few seconds.” He presses his mouth to one knuckle, then slides it along to the next one. The taste of blood is faint on his tongue, but he is unbothered. The way that Gwynsen’s pulse races under his fingers more than makes up for it. 

Gwynsen pulls his hand away before Ornstein makes it to the final knuckle. “Would you look at that, he says as the hand finds its way to the tie holding Ornstein’s hair up in its high ponytail. “A miraculous recovery I have made.” He pulls the tie loose, watching intently as Ornstein’s long hair falls around his shoulders. 

Ornstein doubts that miracles have anything to do with the Prince’s sudden convalescence. “Very fortunate,” Ornstein says, entwining his arms around Gwynsen’s waist. “As I’m rather fond of that hand.” He can feel it now, cupping the back of his head as Gwynsen pulls him into another kiss. 

“What do you say we go make use of Gwyndolin’s hidden room?” Gwynsen says when he breaks away, the heat in his eyes warming Ornstein to his core. “Since he has no further use for it.” 

Ornstein laughs and shakes his head. “I believe we shall both be more comfortable on that couch, aged though it may be.” 

Gwynsen grins. “That suits as well.” 

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This fic is dedicated to everyone who has ever forgotten where an illusory wall was and had to smack a bunch of random walls until they found it.


End file.
